


Kāki

by voids



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Feelings Realization, Hurt/Comfort, I call this my self indulgent hellhole, Kid Fic, M/M, so much of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23310865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voids/pseuds/voids
Summary: Wolf is good with kids, and Genichiro learns. (Or tries to)
Relationships: Genichiro Ashina/Sekiro | Wolf
Comments: 9
Kudos: 44





	1. Persimmon

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this as short stories in my Genikiro drabble compilation ["Oath to you"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21361306/chapters/50881429) However, due to being ass deep into the concept of Wolf dealing with kids and helping Genichiro out with it, I can't help but post a full work with those stories, (and expanding it because ofc it's gonna happen eventually.)
> 
> Dedicated to the Genikiro server ❤︎

"If this little brat won't shut up I will electrocute her with my own hands!" Genichiro snarls. His eyes are bloodshot and flooded with tangible fury.

They were forced to shelter under the pressure of the Interior troops being hot on their heels, when they found an abandoned shack in the middle of the forest. The inside was a small, narrow room filled up with junk, which hindered their moves and aggravated Genichiro even more. 

It wasn't long until a strange noise surprised them. It had come from the shack, from beneath the pile of rubbish stacked in there. Genichiro had no patience to show even when Wolf made it clear with an eye roll that he was gathering the impossible to keep it cool. They didn't want the enemy to be lured into their hideout, but then, the noise sounded extremely unusual. In the end, after removing a good chunk of rubble, what they believed to be a whimpering animal ended up being something else entirely.

"A baby!?"

Genichiro blinked at the bundle of limbs on the floor. It was a little girl, no more than six months old. When he picked her up carefully, his large hands swallowed the newborn whole like they were holding a squeaky toy. 

"Ew... mucky little thing." 

There was no doubt the baby had been abandoned, but despite the circumstances and the dirt plastered on the baby's skin, at first glance she seemed to be in good health. Round and soft enough, though some color on her face was missing.

Now, Genichiro was gathering his willpower not to crush the screaming little monster like a cockroach. 

"Shinobi... please, just kill it, before it draws attention." He mutters, worn out by the stress and fatigue. The furrow in Wolf's brow deepens as his gaze wanders between Genichiro and the baby with concern. 

After a while, he makes the first move, and retrieves the baby from Genichiro's trembling grip, scooping her up in his arms. 

"Shhhh, it's alright. Are you hungry? I can hear your stomach rumbling." Wolf's voice never sounded so gentle, thoroughly crafted to appeal the necessities of a defenseless child. 

Genichiro's jaw goes slack.

He wonders if it's a miracle's doing when the little girl's cries are lulled by the gentle rocking of Wolf's arms. His right hand cups the baby's scapula and neck while he keeps his prosthesis secured on her rear. Little fingers hook into the creases of the shinobi's scarf like it's the most reliable source of comfort she's had in a long while. 

Wolf sits down with his back leaning against the wall. The baby lets out an unsettling groan, but Wolf makes sure she doesn't have to shift too much from her position. "Lord Genichiro, please may you pass me my pouch?" Wolf requests, his voice low enough to almost go unnoticed. Genichiro forces himself to wake up from his stupefaction, grabbing one of the wider pouches and coming to sit beside Wolf. The shinobi thanks him.

The bag is stacked with persimmons. Some ended up crushed while some dried off, and it takes a little while for Wolf to retrieve a full, shimmering orange one. An appetizing scent reaches Genichiro's nostrils. Despite not being particularly hungry, his stomach can't help but whine at the ripe smell, instantly wishing he could have a taste.

Genichiro peels the fruit with a pocket knife, his skillful slices baring a perfect lushious pulp, the juice of which is dripping from his fingers. He holds on to the urge to lick it off, the desire alone abashing him.

Eventually, he offers Wolf the persimmon. When he meets his eyes, Genichiro is unsure about the inkling of a smile in those pursed lips, but then, the shinobi nods in gratitude. The wrinkles on his scarred face have indeed softened, an unrecognizable, positive vision in a world which yields nothing but wrongness. With that, Genichiro's soul feels briefly restored, his aggravaton appeased. 

The prosthetic fingers squish the persimmon dry until they wring out the liquid almost effortlessly. The girl laps eagerly at the fruit, making a mess of her chin, neck and chest. Not even Wolf's clothes are saved, though if the shinobi is bothered by such impropierty, he does well with hiding it. 

They are men of war, and their knowledge on newborns should be far from proper. And yet...

"Who taught you to care for a baby, shinobi?" Genichiro asks him, clearing his throat so that his awe sounds less apparent.

In the quietness of the room, Wolf ponders. He cannot deny the warmth that spread in his chest as soon as the baby's hands had clung onto him, a pleasant fluttering that had almost been neglected for so many years, like an echo of the humanity that kept hidden within his most scarred nooks; the reminder of a heart still beating without the murky chains of wickedness. 

When the little girl makes a satisfied noise, Wolf wonders if it's the most happiness he will feel in what seems like eternity.

"I was assigned by my father as lord Kuro's loyal protector when he was still very little. He was left orphaned at a young age. You could say I almost raised him myself." He explains. The mollified tone in his voice doesn't go overlooked. When the baby finishes her meal, Wolf places the squelched fruit upon Genichiro's hand, then gives a gentle pat on the baby's back with his fingers. " _There, there_... that was good, wasn't it?"

The pit of Genichiro's stomach churns in a wave of pity. He doesn't want to inquire further into the naked, tangible longing engraved in those brown eyes, for he fears he might end up finding something of unstoppable forces, which would call his own motives into question. Instead, he settles for a neutral stance. As the baby's fingers clasp into the old fabric of Wolf's scarf and settles for sleep, Genichiro forces down the lump in his throat when the shinobi pulls his haori over to wrap around the vulnerable little body in an attempt to protect it from the cold. The back of Genichiro's mind decides she will definitely need some cleaning, eventually.

"Not in a thousand years I expected to be in this situation. But I must admit, shinobi, babies do suit you."

The corner of Wolf's mouth curls up ever so slightly. But what Genichiro treasures the most, are the genuine patches of crimson dusting his cheekbones.


	2. Fantasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am my own beta. Don't be too harsh please TwT

Genichiro’s eyes flutter open to a dim lit room. The ghosts from his nightmares still linger fresh in his head, an aftertaste that leaves him momentarily perplexed. He cannot recall the moment his body surrendered to sleep, weightless, like a leaf carried away by the wind, but leaning with his bare back against the wall, he’s now painfully aware of the quietness surrounding him. He had become so acquainted to be on guard, such tranquility feels almost like a stolen moment. 

Lazily, his mind hops back to the reality at hand: the Ministry troops, the forest, the abandoned shack, the unfamiliar weight on his shoulder,—

_Oh_.

He crooks his neck to the side with careful anticipation. Sometime during the night, Wolf had leaned against him, his cheek now resting on Genichiro's clavicle whilst deep in Morpheus’ embrace. It is impossible to ignore the small, breathing lump under the stained fabric of his haori. Only the baby’s head remains visible as she slumbers, submerged profoundly in her sleep and rocked by the steady back and forths of the shinobi's chest. It genuinely seems like the first time she truly feels safe, in the arms of a shinobi.

As if unable to assimilate the sight, Genichiro rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. He wonders how much time has passed since they got there. The moonlight is the only source of light that remains in the shack, casting shadows upon Wolf's face that make his features seem a little more softened. Likewise, to Genichiro's own dismay, Wolf's hairs feel incredibly soft against his jaw. He's almost tempted to tilt his head slightly, to allow the thick strands brush against his stubble. His heart would inevitably skip a beat, no doubt. This proximity is almost driving him out of his mind, barely catching on to breathe in the smell of something otherworldly and exotic, a fragrance Genichiro finds unreasonable to recognize, not unlike the sakura he had scented occasionally on him. This alone, combined with Wolf’s unique scent, is enough to induce an ache in his chest. He doesn’t want to know what it is, or why he’s feeling it, but it’s real, and it’s enough to make him yearn for something ill.

Most of Genichiro’s memories are a stormy hurricane, his life having met nothing but the vestiges of a war he lost. So having been granted with this awakening feels hugely undeserving. As a lord, he partook in carnages as regularly as those who kneel on the grubbiest soil to worship the buddha. If this is absolution, he doesn’t want to accept it.

But if this is the closest he will ever know to an inconspicuous life, he decides it wouldn’t be so bad bearing as a peasant if it meant sharing such a modesty with Wolf.

The shinobi is lithe and small, fitting almost perfectly against him. Genichiro’s body acts before his mind even registers what he’s doing: he crooks his right arm around the curve of Wolf’s waist, his fingers barely feeling up the texture of his obi when the baby releases a broken whine. Wolf’s eyes pop open as if his sleep was but a jest. 

Genichiro removes his arm.

“What’s wrong?”, Wolf asks, his droopy eyes looking almost comical. 

Genichiro’s face feels hot, but he says nothing as he purses his lips. In the meantime, the baby stretches out, her eyes flickering momentarily before searching for the faces of the two men nursing her. They settle upon the shinobi's brown ones, holding his gaze for a while before doing something unexpected and utterly alienated to Genichiro’s standards: her mouth twists up in a smile, a toothless grin aimed exclusively at Wolf. 

And to Genichiro’s shock, the shinobi smiles back, baring his teeth.

Genichiro wonders if this is the same one who confronted him in Ashina Castle long ago. 

Once he finds his voice again, he brings up the subject that has been nibbling at the back of his head ever since they had decided to look after the girl.

“What should we do with her after we leave this place? We are not nursing her for nothing, aren’t we?”

Wolf falls silent as the baby curls her little fingers around his prosthetic thumb and closes her mouth around it, making gurgling idle noises with her throat. Genichiro notices the shinobi's adam's apple moving, perhaps to swallow a lump in his throat. He nods at him, nonetheless. 

“I suppose taking her with us is the most sensible choice. If we’re lucky, we’ll find someone who would be willing to claim her as their child.” 

Genichiro nods back. _“What if we keep her instead?”,_ he toys with the question. That wouldn’t be wise, and he knows Wolf has entertained the idea, as well. He can see it in the way his face drops in distress, the lines of his mirth disappearing completely and giving way to the imprints of guilt. 

It hurts him to see it.

Something tightens in his chest, yelding to a mourning that shouldn’t be there, though it feels as real as the notion of Wolf, bereft of his shinobi robes and commonly dressed up, holding a small human in his arms, with rosy cheeks and eyes full of life. Except this baby bears their features, and the Wolf from the fantasy is tiptoeing to reach Genichiro’s lips while their offspring cheers up with their incomprehensible babbling.

“I’m sorry.”

It comes out naturally, as genuine as the hurting in his heart. Genichiro can’t help but bite into his tongue, wishing he had kept his mouth shut.

But Wolf is staring intently at him, searching in his face. Waiting. Unwittingly, Genichiro wets his lips.

He leans down, their breathings mingling together. 

It’s not proper, and he should stop it, but Wolf's breath smells of fruit, drawing Genichiro in like a bee towards pollen. The baby's gurgles are soon muffled by a single thought, louder than the rest, fogging his brain like the aftereffects of a drug: _Wolf_. Touching Wolf, kissing Wolf, tasting Wolf..., it's bottling him up, and it's so heavy and insistent that Genichiro genuinely fears he might explode if he doesn't act upon it. So by the time their lips brush and Genichiro’s hand moves to tenderly cup the shinobi’s jaw, and Wolf reciprocates the gesture, he knows it’s late.

The kiss is slow, but it is firm as it's needy. At some point, Wolf parts his mouth and allows Genichiro to tease him with his tongue. He's unprepared for the sweetness of him. It makes him think vaguely of Senpou candy, of the enhanced blood rush that would come after every bite, and the feeling couldn't be further from it. There's that uniquedness that makes the kiss feel so special, as well. They both gasp into their mouths, Genichiro's thumb raking over the sharp contours of the shinobi's cheek. He takes that as an invitation to deepen his exploration. In this moment, words never felt so void and dull, so they settle for actions instead. After all, they were raised for such. 

Eventually, Genichiro’s nose takes in a revolting smell. He breaks apart, already mourning the loss of their shared warmth. Because of Wolf's furrowed brow, he knows he’s not alone in that.

“What the devil?”

The girl glares up at them innocently. Her flushed cheeks and the smelly evidence of her mischief makes Genichiro remember why he never settled for kids in the first place. But he decides on how the priceless expression on Wolf’s face is going to keep him light spirited during the day.


End file.
